Mircea Cantor’s work The Landscape is Changing, 2003, opens with a routine street scene. Gradually, it becomes apparent that a group of young men and women has gathered on the street, each holding a reflective panel up to his or her face. Orientated in the same direction, as if demonstrating against or facing an invisible presence, they start marching down the street as a single block composed of numerous individuals. Cars keep driving by, the passersby go about their business, and the demonstrators continue to alternate between marching and standing still.
This is a silent protest, and the urban and human reality reflected in the demonstrator’s mirror-like panels becomes the poignant, fluid and flickering content of their protest. The character of this procession – which is simultaneously active and subdued – endows the work with a spectacular, fateful dimension. Like the street noises underscoring the pain and horror in the course of a formal, silently advancing funeral procession, the reflective panels stand in for the absent sounds of protest; suffice it to put a mirror up to reality in order to clearly articulate one’s position.
The CDA's archives are operating with the support of the Ostrovsky Family Fund and Artis
The CDA's archives are operating with the support of the Ostrovsky Family Fund and Artis
Mircea Cantor’s work The Landscape is Changing, 2003, opens with a routine street scene. Gradually, it becomes apparent that a group of young men and women has gathered on the street, each holding a reflective panel up to his or her face. Orientated in the same direction, as if demonstrating against or facing an invisible presence, they start marching down the street as a single block composed of numerous individuals. Cars keep driving by, the passersby go about their business, and the demonstrators continue to alternate between marching and standing still.
This is a silent protest, and the urban and human reality reflected in the demonstrator’s mirror-like panels becomes the poignant, fluid and flickering content of their protest. The character of this procession – which is simultaneously active and subdued – endows the work with a spectacular, fateful dimension. Like the street noises underscoring the pain and horror in the course of a formal, silently advancing funeral procession, the reflective panels stand in for the absent sounds of protest; suffice it to put a mirror up to reality in order to clearly articulate one’s position.
The CDA's archives are operating with the support of the Ostrovsky Family Fund and Artis
The CDA's archives are operating with the support of the Ostrovsky Family Fund and Artis